


The World Gets Smaller

by thatwriterinthecorner



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Tale of the Champion, varric's writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwriterinthecorner/pseuds/thatwriterinthecorner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a chapter in "The Tale of the Champion" that no one can quite explain. Years later and Varric still doesn't understand quite what happened that night, nor why it happened. </p>
<p>Leliana, determined to utilise her spy network one last time before she leaves for Val Royeaux to take up her mantle as Divine Victoria, sets about trying to find an explanation for a strange event that rocked their camp ten years ago during the blight. </p>
<p>As paths converge and friends both old and new are drawn to Skyhold, old hurts will be revived, secrets will be revealed and in the midst of it all a strange power no one quite understands might be the undoing of the entire Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is very talky, but it's largely set up. Future chapters should be more balanced!

“Varric?”

“Yes Seeker?” The dwarf sighed, looking up from the letter he’d been reading, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I had questions about your book.”

“Swords and Shields? I’m working on it. Slowly, but it’s going.”

“Actually I… I wanted to ask about the Tale of the Champion.”

At her words, Varric set down his letter on the desk and leant back, tilting his chair to better see the Seeker’s face, illuminated by the many candles that dotted the main hall. “Are you sure you want to go down that road Seeker? It could get messy. Books might get stabbed.”

“The questions… question is not about Hawke,” Cassandra bit back at him, pulling out a chair across the table. “Or at least, not entirely.”

“Go on then.” He waved a hand in weary assent.

“It’s about Chapter Eight.”

“Ahh.”

“You skipped over it before and it was not important at the time, but now… I am curious as to what actually happened.”

“So am I. We never quite solved that mystery.”

“Leliana has been looking into it, I believe, although I do not know why.”

“Nightingale is involved in this?” Varric shook his head and picked up the letter once more. “Be sure to let me know if she finds anything.” 

* * *

**_From “The Tale of the Champion” by Varric Tethras_ **

_That evening, Hawke went out of his way to fetch the entire gang. He started at the Alienage and worked his way up to Hightown before dragging us over to his new place._

_“Not that I’m objecting, Hawke,” Isabela called to him as Leandra ushered the lot of us into the dining room, “But is there a particular reason for this?”_

_“We got a letter,” Hawke replied, grinning from ear to ear._

_“Well don’t leave us hanging,” I chuckled, “Who was it from?”_

_“Bethany!”_

_“She survived?” Anders pushed forward, his face showing the relief we all felt._

_“She did. She’s with the Wardens now, a free mage at last!”_

_Anders snorted disbelievingly, but was soon pushed aside by a beaming Isabela who wrapped her arms around Hawke. Fenris tensed slightly - barely noticeable unless you knew the guy, but the signs were there and they were obvious._

_“I wanted to celebrate,” Hawke said, extracting himself from Isabela’s. “We’ve finally settled in here, and mother thought we could celebrate. She hasn’t met all of you yet, after all.”_

_This was true. In fact, until this very moment most of us had been under the impression that Hawke was very deliberately keeping his mother away from at least some of the group._

_“I’ll do the introductions then, shall I?” I said and Hawke smiled. I, of course, had already encountered Leandra before the journey to the Deep Roads._

_“Be my guest.”_

_“You’ve met our esteemed Guard Captain, of course.”_

_“Not for some time,” Leandra said with a small smile. “Congratulations on the promotion, Captain.”_

_“My name will be more than enough, Leandra,” Aveline said, embracing the other woman warmly._

_“And in order we have Daisy, Blondie, Rivaini, and Broody.”_

_“Broody?” Leandra frowned._

_“Fenris,” Hawke said, stressing the name and glaring pointedly at Varric, “Isabela, Anders, and Merril.”_

_“You spoil all my fun, Hawke. All my fun.” I shook my head and clapped the guy on the back. Hawke was a good kid, but he could be a little too straight laced at times. I knew then that I needed to teach him how to cut loose, but perhaps in hindsight it’s best I hadn’t quite gotten around to it at that point. It turned out that what we needed most that night was, in fact, the only sane man in Kirkwall._

* * *

When Varric entered the Rookery that evening, Leliana was mulling over a small piece of parchment, Baron Plucky sitting on the back of her chair. He eyed the bird balefully before addressing the spymaster.

“Anything interesting?” he asked.

“Yes, actually,” she replied, folding the tiny strip and sliding it into her sleeve. “I have found a replacement for myself. I leave for Val Royeaux within the month.”

“And how will they cope without you, Nightingale?”

“As well as they will cope without you, I suspect,” she replied, a small smile curling the edge of her lips. “My replacement is an old friend of mine,” she went on. “I trust him to manage the network I have built for the Inquisition. You don’t come up here often Varric. You had a question, yes?”

“The Seeker mentioned a small project of yours. She said you were looking into Chapter Eight?”

“Ahh.” Leliana pursed her lips slightly and stood, holding out an arm. Baron Plucky cawed and leapt from the chair, settling onto her forearm and staring balefully at the dwarf. “The events you described in Chapter Eight were not… unprecedented.”

“You mean you’ve seen it before? When?”

“During the blight we had a similar experience one night at camp.”

“Wait a moment; you’re saying _you_ , the witch and the future King of Ferelden were all…”

“Not Alistair,” Leliana interrupted as Baron Plucky took off for a perch in the rafters, “And not Neala either. They were… otherwise engaged at the time.” A smirk flitted across her features as she turned to face him, leaning against the railing. “I’m having some key witnesses brought to Skyhold. Hopefully this will shed some light upon the events.”

* * *

**_Ten Years Previously, in a camp not far from Denerim_ **

“They are not particularly subtle, no?” Zevran asked with a chuckle, eying the pair as they slipped away from the glow of the fire.

“Should they be?” Leliana asked, smiling. “They are young and in love. Let them have this, while it lasts.”

“There’s nothing in it for either of them,” Morrigan sniffed. She had deigned to join them for the evening meal. “He will be King, and then what will she be? His mistress?” she snorted, clearly not believing it.

No one spoke to deny what the witch said. The thought had crossed all of their minds at one point or another, although only Wynne had been brave enough to voice any of these concerns.

“Let them have their happiness,” Leliana said at last, “There is so little of it in the world these days.”

“I still worry for them,” Wynne said softly, looking at where the young lovers had disappeared into the trees. “The Blight is a long way from defeated, and heart break is the last thing either of them needs right now.”

“Perhaps,” Leliana said, “But to forbid them this would break their hearts anyway.”

“We are like a family, yes?” Zevran laughed. “They are our parents and Morrigan is the sibling nobody likes.”

Leliana chuckled and even Sten looked vaguely amused. Maybe. It was hard to tell with the stony faced Qunari. Morrigan was certainly not.

“I knew there was a reason I preferred my _own_ fire,” she said acidly.

“Stay,” Leliana implored her even as Morrigan rose to her feet. “It won’t kill you for just this one night.”

“It might kill the rest of you,” Morrigan said darkly, but she sat back down all the same.

“There we go,” Bodahn said, drawing everyone’s attention as he started ladling out bowls of stew. “It’s not much, but even Nug is better than nothing.”

“Oh joy,” Morrigan muttered. “Nug stew. Again.”

“Enchantment!” Sandal said excitedly, clapping his hands together.

“No, stew,” Morrigan said, accepting a bowl and staring balefully down at the murky brown liquid.

“Enchantment!” Sandal giggled slightly, glancing from one person to another as they accepted their stew and began to eat.

* * *

Three hooded figures arrived at Skyhold a week after Leliana received her letter. They arrived as dawn broke, stealing through the small village that had begun to grow at the base of the path that led up to the fortress before it could truly awake.

Many of the Inquisition’s soldiers had been released from active duty upon the defeat of Corypheus, but many of these had been refugees, people whose homes and possessions were long gone. With Skyhold so close, perhaps a settlement had been inevitable. Either way, life continued in the mountains between Orlais and Ferelden.

“Halt!” the gate guard said as they reached the end of the bridge. “Identify yourself.”

“Relax soldier,” a lilting voice said from behind the trio, “They are with me.”

Leliana stepped forward from the shadows of the still ebbing night, lowering her hood and smiling.

“And how long have you been following me, dearest bard?” the lead figure asked with a laugh.

“My agents spotted you in Denerim,” she said, reaching forward and lowering the man – no, the elf’s – hood. “You are not as good as you like to think, Zevran.”

“Or perhaps I let you find me?” he laughed. “Come, I am intrigued to meet this Inquisitor of yours. I have heard very much about her.”

“Then you will be pleased to hear that she is an early riser.”

“Ahh, fantastic. I love meeting beautiful women in the morning.” He took Leliana’s hand and brought it to his lips, raising a single eyebrow as he did so, the tattoo that ringed his eye quirking up with the movement. Leliana laughed and extracted her hand.

“You all have rooms ready for you in the keep. Bodahn, Sandal, Arcanist Dagna will be thrilled that you’ve arrived.”

The other two figures, significantly shorter than Zevran and stouter, lowered their hoods.

“Charmed to meet you again Miss Leliana, and under such auspicious circumstances. Divine Victoria, as I understand it?”

“Not quite yet Bodahn,” she laughed, leading them past the bemused gate guard and into the lower courtyard, “I have another month or so as Leliana first.”

“Raise your shield recruit!” a voice barked from the upper courtyard, “That’s the third opportunity he would have had to kill you in the past two minutes!”

“Morning drills?”

“Our Commander is able to return to a more hands on approach now that most of our troops are decommissioned,” Leliana explained. “We’ve negotiated with Celene and Briala in Orlais to maintain garrisons in the Western Approach and the Emprise, as well as a scattered force in other areas, but the vast majority of the army has returned to their previous lives.”

“And in Ferelden?”

“The keep in Crestwood was largely a base for my operatives,” she said as they began to climb the stairs. “What to do with it will be ultimately up to you, but the Ferelden King should arrive today to discuss the terms.”

“My, this truly is a reunion,” Zevran exclaimed, “I am beginning to have flashbacks already.”

“Morrigan has not left yet either.”

“She is here?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.

“We spent so long looking for her, only for her to show up under our noses. I first heard of her a few years ago. She was serving in Celene’s Court, a sort of magical adviser.”

“Has she given any explanation for her… absence?”

“None, but I have not asked. It was ten years ago, and the wounds are not fresh for any us.” They had reached the top of the stairs and there before them was the Commander and the poor unfortunates who were undergoing drills even as the sun finally broke the horizon.

“They are doing well today,” Leliana observed. “I think it is the extra supervision.” She nodded to a figure standing on a small landing halfway up to the doors of the keep.

“Zevran Arainai, meet Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Evelyn heard Leliana’s introduction and turned to face the small group as they approached the stairs. Smiling, she descended to meet them. “So, this is the Antivan assassin I’ve heard so much about?” she asked.

“And you are the famed Herald of Andraste, no?” Zevran countered, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “It seems we both have reputations to live up to.” She laughed, her green eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Her red hair was pulled back into a tight knot, her skin slightly darker than Zevran’s own speaking of Rivaini blood somewhere along the line. Her laugh was easy, but short lived.

“Evelyn will do just fine. We are going to be working together, after all.” She turned to address Leliana. “Perhaps you could introduce your guests to Dagna, while I take Zevran to meet the others?”

“That seems like an excellent idea. May I have a quick word with you first, Inquisitor?”

“Of course.” Evelyn nodded and allowed herself to be drawn aside by her spymaster. Leliana walked her out of earshot of Zevran and the dwarves, and far enough away from Cullen and his troops that they wouldn’t over hear anything either.

“What is it?” she asked, frowning.

“I feel I should warn you that Zevran and the Commander have encountered each other before.”

“When?” she asked, not trying to hide her surprise. It wasn’t as though the two had walked in even vaguely similar social circles.

“During the blight, at Ferelden’s circle.”

“You didn’t think you might mention this _before_ he arrived?” Evelyn hissed, eyes widening. “We should have warned him at the very least… I don’t suppose you’ve invited the rest of the gang as well. I’d like to know what I’m dealing with here.”

“No. Only Zevran of those who saw.” Leliana’s eyes hardened visibly, her lips thinning. “I haven’t seen Shale in years, and both Wynne and Neala are dead.”

“Of course,” Evelyn sighed. “I’m sorry, Lel. It’s just… some warning might have been appreciated. Did you even tell Cullen he was coming?”

“I thought it best to let Zevran handle it himself. He can be quite tactful, when he wants to be. He may surprise you.”

“Well it looks like we’ll have to wait and see then,” Evelyn groaned. “I’ll take him to meet Josie and she can give him the tour. Then I want to warn Cullen.”

“It might be a little late for that,” Leliana observed. Evelyn’s head whipped around to see the soldiers dispersing as the morning drills came to an end. There, at the edge of the training ring, was Zevran. He was leaning on the fencing that surrounded it, and he was talking with the Commander.

“Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Zevran said, his voice dancing over the title as though he were considering it. “Quite the promotion from when we last met, no?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I recall…” Cullen began, turning to face Zevran. At the sight of the elf’s face he stopped. His mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out.

“Cullen,” Evelyn hurried forward to stand beside Zevran, her eyes concerned and her hand reaching forward to rest on his arm. “Are you alright?”

He nodded stiffly and turned away. “I have much work to attend to, if you’ll excuse me Inquisitor.” As he moved away, Evelyn shot a dark look at Leliana.

“Take Zevran to Josephine, I’ll go talk to Cullen.”

“As you wish, Inquisitor,” Leliana agreed with a nod of the head, taking Zevran by the elbow and steering him towards the keep. Evelyn sighed and hurried off after Cullen.

She didn’t catch up with him before he reached his office. By the time she slipped inside, closing the door behind her, Cullen was already seated behind his desk, hands clasped in front of him and eyes wearing a hole in the wood before him.

“Cullen?” she asked, not moving away from the door. He didn’t answer at first – it was as though he didn’t even realise she was there at all. When he finally spoke, he was still looking down at the table.

“I apologise, Inquisitor, I was not expecting…” He waved a shaking hand and she sighed, stepping forward and rounding the desk until she stood behind him, her hands resting upon his shoulders.

“It’s just us in here Cullen,” she said softly, placing a kiss on the crown of his head, “You can talk to me.”

“I know…” He sighed. “I am sorry, but to have a man here who _knows_ the things I said, the way I acted…”

“I would have warned you, if I’d known. Leliana only told me a few minutes ago.”

“Perhaps it is for the best,” he sighed. “If I’d have known who she was bringing in as her replacement I might have protested, and that would have been selfish of me. The Inquisition must always come first.”

“Not right now,” she said, “Not while it’s just the two of us in here.” Finally he moved, leaning back in the chair and slumping his shoulders slightly. Evelyn wound her arms about his shoulders and felt his hand reach up to grasp hers. She held him for a time, and they were silent.

***

**_An excerpt from “The Tale of the Champion” by Varric Tethras_ **

_After the food was served and eaten, Leandra pulled Hawke to one side. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but from Leandra’s expression and the piece of paper she clutched in her hands it seemed that perhaps all was not as well with Bethany as they were saying to the rest of us._

_I left them to their discussion, knowing that family business could get very messy very quickly, and turned my attention back to the table. Isabela was whispering something to Merril, who was nodding as though Rivaini’s words were her gods own truths._

_“What are you telling Daisy this time?” I asked._

_“Nothing worth sharing with present company,” Isabela laughed, reaching for her mug and draining what was left. To her right, Fenris was staring daggers across the table at Anders. The mage had not, it had to be said, made the best effort to be friendly. Neither had Broody either if it came to that._

_“So, Sunshine’s a Grey Warden now?” I asked Blondie, trying to break some of the tension that had been building between the two all evening. “What’s that mean?”_

_“It means she fights Darkspaw,” Anders replied with a shrug. “They don’t really go in for much else in the order.”_

_“And they don’t let you have pets either,” I laughed, reaching for the wine bottle and topping up both Fenris’ glass and my own. “What was the cat called?”_

_“Ser-Pounce-A-Lot,” Anders replied absently. I don’t think any of us believed for even a second that the cat was the real reason Blondie left the Wardens, but he was never forthcoming about his past unless it was to tell us that mages were all that was good and pure in the world._

_“That’s better than being on the run from the Templars though surely?” Isabela asked, leaning back in her chair and lifting her feet to rest on the table edge. “I mean, Grey Warden mages aren’t expected to live in the circle, so they’re not apostates.”_

_“There’s no such thing as a free mage so long as the Chantry…” Anders began._

_“It’s probably for the best anyway,” Fenris interrupted; clearly he did not have the patience for Blondie that night. Or any night really, the two were not the best of friends._

_“Oh so it’s best that an entire group of people are maligned for something they can’t help?” Anders rounded on the elf, but Fenris seemed unconcerned. He knew, as all of us did, that Anders wouldn’t do anything under Hawke’s roof._

_“It’s for the best that blood mages and abominations aren’t running the street of Kirkwall,” Fenris muttered darkly. He shot a dark look at Anders. “For the most part at least.”_

_“And here we go again,” Isabela sighed, her head lolling back as Anders and Fenris embarked on yet another argument, something that was beginning to grate upon everybody’s nerves. Hawke usually made a point about not taking the two out together. Sure, they respected each other’s abilities well enough and could be trusted in a fight, but they were just so damn annoying._

_“Fenris, really,” Merril was saying. “Anders, no that was mean.” She was the only one of us who ever bothered to try and get between the pair of them these days._

_Hawke and Leandra broke off their conversation as Hawke stood, still on the other side of the room, and folded his arms. He didn’t shout, didn’t say anything at all, but the argument petered out all the same. Hawke had that effect on just about everyone._

_“Really?” He asked finally. “You’re going to do that tonight?” For a moment, Anders looked as though he would bite back with a retort, but he never got the chance. It was right at that moment that it happened._

_Looking back I couldn’t tell you what it felt like. There was no process to it, it simply happened, and I’m not sure anything I will say in the following pages can truly do the evening justice. But still, I will try._

***

“Ahh, so this is where the mysterious Sister Nightingale cloisters herself?” Zevran asked as they reached the top floor of the rookery. “It is far superior to the tent you lived in when we met.”

“Though sometimes it is colder,” Leliana replied with a rueful smile. The birds above them cawed and shuffled on their perches.

“So,” he asked, leaning back against Leliana’s desk and crossing one ankle over the other, “I collected our esteemed dwarven companions for you, will you explain now why they are here?”

“Have you read the Tale of the Champion?” Leliana asked after a moment.

“I have briefly perused a copy,” he replied with a shrug.

“Did you read chapter eight?”

“I am a terrible person, and skipped to the end.” He loosened the collar of his cloak, pulling it off to reveal the dark leather coat beneath, reaching down to his knees, where it met a pair of high black boots. Antivan leather, of course.

“I have a copy here,” Leliana said, moving to her desk and opening a drawer. “I suggest you read the chapter. You might find the events strangely familiar.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will really get started next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Alistair arrives at Skyhold, and the story comes out over a game of Wicked Grace.

As the day wore on, Skyhold buzzed to life. While the fortress was never truly quiet, it was busiest in the afternoon and loudest in the evening.

True to form, by the time the sun had passed it’s zenith there were crowds milling around the lower courtyard, passing between the merchant’s stalls or else running errands between the various high ups of the Inquisition.

When the horn sounded and the cry went up, they were quickly ushered away, the Courtyard cleared in record time. “The King Approaches!”

The remains of the Inquisitions strongest members and allies arranged themselves near the steps to the grand fortress as the Ferelden entourage rode up the bridge that led to Skyhold.

At the base of the stairs waited the newly appointed Lady Seeker, and beside her was the writer Varric Tethras. The Tevinter Magister – _Altus_ , he would have proclaimed with a weary sigh – to their left, and the Qunari mercenary behind him. Madame de Fer watched the proceedings with an arched eyebrow and a practised indifference, while unbeknown to those watching the approaching delegation, the elven archer was keeping an eye on goings on from the roof not so far away. The false Warden was nowhere to be seen – considered wise, given King Alistair’s past – and no one ever truly knew where the boy Cole might appear.

The four advisors, Zevran now inducted into this most prestigious of groups, waited two steps behind Inquisitor Trevelyan herself. Like the members of her inner circle, she had donned her formal armour for the occasion. The red and black armour was not the flawless garb of an Orlesian chevalier. Instead, the red plate across her chest bore scratches and nicks that revealed the orange dragon bone beneath, and the leather was scuffed in more than one place.

Her dragon bone staff was strapped to her back, for the Inquisition presented itself as it was – a force to be reckoned with. She descended the steps as the King ascended to the Upper Courtyard, and she bowed first, with a deferent “your majesty.”

“Your worship,” the King countered with a small smirk and a nod of the head. “Quite the welcome you’ve got here.”

“It is far superior to my own,” Zevran noted with a pout, “No one even opened the wine when I arrived.” Alistair blinked and did a double take as he saw the elf.

“Zevran is here to take over from me as spymaster when I leave for Val Royeaux,” Leliana explained when she saw Alistair’s expression, a small smile touching her lips.

“Obviously you’re familiar with our spymasters,” the inquisitor noted with a smile. “May I introduce Lady Josephine Montiliyet, our Ambassador.” Josephine Curtseyed, and Alistair greeted her with a firm, “my Lady.”

“And this is Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“You were the Knight Captain in Kirkwall, right?” Alistair asked, scratching absently at his jaw.

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Nasty business,” he said, shaking his head and frowning.

“I have had rooms prepared for you, your majesty,” Josephine said, smoothly taking control of the conversation. “I assume you would prefer to retire and begin business discussions on the morrow?”

“That would be great. Thank you, Lady Montiliyet.”

“Then allow me to show you to your chambers.”

As Josephine led the Ferelden monarch away, Evelyn exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. She turned to smile at Cullen, who was frowning very slightly. “Either he didn’t recognise me,” he said after a moment, “Or he has significantly more tact than Arainai.”

“Either is possible,” Zevran laughed, “But the esteemed monarch was never the most tactful of men so I would place my money on the former.”

* * *

That evening it was the Bull’s Chargers, recently returned from a mission in western Orlais, to start the drinking in earnest. Never one to back down from a challenge, Sera had joined them and with her she had dragged the only somewhat reluctant soon-to-be-warden Blackwall from his hideaway in the hayloft. When Varric had seen this, he had taken it upon himself to once more gather what was left of the inner circle and herd them into the Herald’s Rest.

It took him a while, but he eventually coerced Josephine and Dorian down, the first by pointing out just how much she’d won the last time they played and the second by promising that he would not steal all of his coin. This was true. Josephine would be the one doing that. Cassandra agreed to join when he mentioned that the next few chapters to Swords and Shields were currently waiting to be printed and bound, but would be available in the fortress in original, hand written form for a few days yet.

“Your Inquisatorialness,” he said, raising a hand as he spotted Evelyn hurrying across the hall. “We’re starting a game, if you’re interested?”

“I don’t think so Varric, not right now. Another time, perhaps?”

“Aww, that’s a shame. I’ve only got Curly left to ask – and I’ll drag the kid down from the attic as well.”

“It’s been a long day Varric, I ‘m not sure either of us will be joining you.”

“I thought you liked it when the Commander played cards,” he teased, eliciting the slightest hint of a smirk from the usually reserved Inquisitor.

“I’ll talk to Cullen,” she sighed, shaking her head and laughing slightly, “But if we’re not there soon don’t worry about starting without us.”

“Alright then. Hope to see you there.”

As it turned out, Evelyn and Cullen arrived at the tavern bare moments before Josephine dealt everyone in – everyone, it transpired, including both Leliana and Zevran. Cullen looked a little nervous when he saw the assassin, but Zevran appeared preoccupied talking to Bull and Dorian, so he sat down next to Evelyn, only shooting the Antivan the odd glance as cards were distributed and drinks poured.

“Maker, I’d clearly forgotten how terrible I am at Wicked Grace,” Evelyn sighed as she lost yet more money to Josephine.

“Still not the worst player at the table though,” Dorian reminded her with a smirk and a suggestive look at Cullen, who blushed scarlet and muttered _“Maker’s breath.”_

“I feel there is a story here I am missing,” Zevran chuckled, “Someone please do fill me in.”

“That is not a story anyone ever needs to fill anyone in on,” Cullen said firmly.

“I truly disagree,” Dorian chimed in. “I’m rather fond of it.”

“I like it,” Evelyn agreed, smiling as she took another mouthful of her drink, “Worth every penny Josie wrung out of me last time.”

“He bet against our resident Antivan,” Varric said simply.

“Ahh,” Zevran chuckled. “That would explain it then.”

Stories were exchanged, growing wilder and more ridiculous as the night went on. Eventually, Varric turned to Leliana. “So,” he said, shuffling the cards and dealing another hand. “Just why exactly are you investigating Chapter Eight?”

“I’m not,” she replied honestly, “Or at least, that wasn’t where the search began…”

Before she could continue, the door to the tavern opened and a figure ducked inside. He glanced about surreptitiously, but most people were deep enough in their cups by that point that the King of Ferelden himself could’ve entered the tavern and they wouldn’t have noticed.

This was just as well, for it was indeed King Alistair hurrying around the edge of the tavern to the large table around which the inner circle had arrayed itself.

“Should Kings sneak into taverns so late?” Leliana asked, smirking.

“Should future Divines imbibe spirits and gamble?” he countered, grinning, “And for the Maker’s sake, just call me Alistair. All of you,” he shot the table a glare.

“The condition for that one is you call us all by our names too,” Evelyn said, smiling. “I am Evelyn, and the next person to call me your Worship will be assigned pike duty on the box tour.” The entire table shuddered.

“I’m not sure I understand…” Alistair began.

“You don’t want to,” Blackwall assured him. “Just pull up a chair and call her Evelyn.”

“So Nightingale,” Varric said, “Where were you?”

“Alistair can help with this story, now he’s here,” Leliana laughed. “It was during the Blight, and Neala and Alistair had very subtly snuck away for only the Maker knows what...” Alistair had the decency to blush at Leliana’s overly innocent tone.

* * *

**_The Warden Camp, Ten Years Ago_ **

Leliana blinked sluggishly. Her head ached like nothing else, a fierce pounding at her left temple. She hadn’t had a headache like this in years, not since she and Marjolaine had…

She stopped that train of thought right there. Memories of Marjolaine were still too raw, to fresh, to dwell upon. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Last thing she remembered, they had been sat around the fire, eating the stew Bodahn had made and arguing about… something. They were nearly always arguing about something, and the topics tended to rather bleed together.

She sat up and looked around. Then she closed her eyes, counted to ten and opened them again. Then she pinched herself. It hurt. She pushed herself to her feet and wobbled over to where Zevran lay, apparently unconscious, and shook him awake.

“Zevran,” she hissed. “Zevran wake up.” The assassin jerked upright.

“My mouth tastes worse than usual,” he groaned, “Which is saying something considering the average hygiene level of this camp.”

“Zevran,” Leliana snapped. He blinked bleary eyes and looked around. “Oh,” was all he had to say.

“They finally came to,” Shale’s voice said from a short distance away. “I did wonder what was taking them so long.”

“Shale!” Leliana exclaimed, “Do you remember what… how this happened?”

“I do not. Although it seems to have affected the entire camp.” She gestured to the side where, sure enough, Morrigan, Wynne and Oghren lay unconscious.

At that moment, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. Leliana nearly fell, and clutched onto the log she’d been sitting on the night before for support.

“Where is everyone?” a voice said from somewhere high, high overhead.

“Probably lying in wait knowing our luck.”

“Neala?” Leliana shouted. “Alistair!”

“That was Leliana!” Neala’s voice exclaimed, just as a very large foot crashed into the ground not a foot from where the bard stood. Or perhaps only an inch. Her head hurt at the thought.

“I’m down here! Watch were you stand!”

“Oh… oh sweet Maker.” Neala bent down, blue eyes wide with both confusion and shock as she peered at Leliana, who stood before her.

“You’re… tiny,” the elf said at last.

“Really?” Zevran drawled, “I hadn’t noticed.”

The entire party was spread before them, each of them no more than six inches tall. “What in Thedas happened to you?!” Neala asked.

“That,” Morrigan groused from where she sat, rubbing her head, “Is a very good question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The World Gets Smaller" AKA "Honey! I shrunk the Thedosians"
> 
> Yeah. This is going to get ridiculous. I apologise for nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric tells a story and Alistair learns just who has been making herself at home in the Skyhold gardens.

“Wait, so you were how tall?” Sera snickered.

“They were six inches tall at the absolute outside,” Alistair replied, laughing and shaking his head. “And that was Shale. Leliana was barely touching five.”

“You should feel bad for the dwarves,” Varric complained, pushing a small pile of coins forward. “I see your bet Ruffles and I raise you twenty silvers.”

“So _that_ was Chapter Eight?” Cullen asked, “Shaking his head. I still remember the moment you showed up at the Circle.” He was grinning slightly.

“It reads about as ridiculously as it happened,” Varric chuckled.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You haven’t read the Tale of the Champion?” Cassandra’s eyebrows rose as she turned to look at the Commander.

“I lived it, once was more than enough. I have absolutely no wish to see how I’m painted in that thing.”

“Only good things, Curly, only good things. But yes. That’s what happened in chapter eight.”

“So who was there?”

“The whole gang, minus Sunshine of course. It was after she joined the Wardens. You thought Anders and Fenris were a pain at their usual size, you wait until their tiny and at each other’s throats about it for the duration.”

***

**_From “The Tale of the Champion” by Varric Tethras_ **

_“What did you do, mage?!” Fenris raged, storming across the table. Anders backed away, but he was too close to the edge to go far. Fenris, not having his sword to hand, reached instead for the cheese knife (Hawke was that kind of fancy these days) and brandished it at him._

_“This wasn’t me!” Anders had his hands up, “I have no idea how this happened._

_“And you?” Fenris turned towards Merril, who was staring at her hands. She looked about as confused as I felt._

_“Fenris, I don’t think anyone on the table currently was responsible for… whatever this is,” Hawke said, peering down, “Please put down the knife.” He and Leandra, sat as they were a short distance from the rest of us, appeared to have been spared the indignity. I glanced towards my chair, and at Bianca leaning against it. At least she remained unsullied through this._

_“So who did it then?” Isabela asked, “These things don’t just happen, Hawke.”_

_“Honestly… I have no idea. Anders, Merril… you are the resident mages. Any idea?”_

_“I’ve never heard of a spell like this before,” Merril said after a moment. “It’s like shape shifting, only… shape shrinking?”_

_“Right, so someone shape shrank the lot of you?” Hawke said. Merril giggled._

_“It sounds slightly ridiculous, doesn’t it?”_

_“You’ve got that right Daisy.”_

_“Anders, have you got anything to add?” Hawke asked._

_“This isn’t like anything they taught at the circle,” he said thoughtfully, “Or anything I’ve seen since. It may be that we’re facing an opponent who learned from some source we don’t have access. And even if it were shape shifting of some form, the effect is supposed to be restricted to the caster.”_

_“You assume an opponent then?” Hawke asked._

_“Come on Hawke,” I laughed, “How many enemies have you made in Kirkwall since you got here?”_

_“More than most,” Fenris said with the slightest smirk. He had lowered the cheese knife, the tip of the blade now resting against the table._

_“What are you going to do?” Leandra asked, staring down at us from where she stood._

_“Well… honestly I have no idea.”_

_“Perhaps we can track the spell?” Anders suggested. “If it’s an active casting, then the mage can’t be too far away.”_

_“Excellent idea. How long could that take?”_

_“That depends,” Merril said._

_“On what?”_

_“This.” She raised a hand and fire bloomed at her fist. Fenris flinched back, but the elf was already turning away from him, aiming towards a blank section of the wall. She fired forward with the fist and the tiny fireball sped into the wall._

_“What did that do?” Hawke asked._

_“Other than burning the wall,” Leandra said, sighing._

_“I put as much power into that as I would in battle,” Merril said, “And it was significantly smaller. Our mana pools have shrunk along with our bodies, so even if the mage is next door, it could take us all night to prove it.”_

_“Right, of course,” Hawke groused, “Things are never easy.”_

_“To be effective, we really need a full size mage,” Merril said thoughtfully._

_“But the only place we could find that…” Aveline began._

_“Would be the Gallows,” Hawke finished with a sigh. “We can go in the morning. The Knight Captain owes me a favour.”_

***

“Of course,” Varric said as he set down his drink, “That raised one rather large problem.”

“And what was that?” Evelyn asked.

“Well we could hardly head home in the state we were in. Hawke had to put us up for the night.”

“I imagine you didn’t take up much space at least,” Blackwall rumbled.

“Hardly. He set out a box with one of his clean tunics and told us to be quiet. Set the thing on the cabinet in his room.”

“Wait,” Cullen shook his head, “Fenris and Anders had to share a bed?”

“They did indeed. But I think that story will wait. I’ve had more than enough of the ambassador taking my coin for one evening.”

“Now Varric are you admitting defeat?” Josephine said with a sly grin.

“I am indeed, Lady Montiliyet, and I’m retreating with what few coppers I have left in my pocket. I also know when to hold back a good story for when my audience will appreciate it.” He glanced at Sera, who was sliding off her chair, and then at the Iron Bull, who was leading the chargers in a raring chorus of “We Smashed That Coryphytit”, a rather bawdy ballad composed by Sera in the tavern the night after the Inquisition’s greatest victory.

“Well make sure we’re all here for it,” Evelyn said as she rose, “I want to hear the rest.”

She and Cullen left together, and once they were out into the clear night she leant against him. “I’m glad we joined them,” she said.

“I am too,” he replied, surprising himself.

“Good.” She sighed, her fingers finding his hand and taking it. “Come to my room? I don’t feel like sleeping under a hole in the roof right now.”

“As my Lady insists.”

“Your Lady is tipsy enough to consider pike duty,” she reminded him, “And still insists on being called Evelyn.” She sighed. “Will you talk with the King tomorrow?” she asked as they began to climb the stairs to the keep.

“I suppose I have to really,” Cullen sighed, “Although I would rather not.”

“I worry that Zevran might tell him if you don’t. I know Leliana trusts him, and I’m sure he’s doing what he believes is best, but…”

“Honestly, he probably did do what’s best,” Cullen admitted, his free hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Having Alistair not recognise me or say anything straight away has left me on edge.”

“And Zevran got it out of the way the moment he arrived,” Evelyn said, finishing the thought. “I hadn’t looked at it that way. I can be there, if it will help.”

“I… no. I think this should be a private conversation.”

“OK.” She turned and leant up slightly, her lips brushing the corner of his in a gentle kiss. “We can think about this more in the morning.” She frowned. “When less alcohol is involved.”

Cullen laughed and agreed, the two of them heading inside together.

***

“How much was it this time Josie?” Leliana asked as the ambassador finished counting her winnings.

“Almost half again as much as last time,” she said smugly. “The Commander may have learnt his lesson, but the Ferelden Crown was nowhere near as careful with his coin as he should have been.”

Alistair groaned and Zevran slapped him on the back. “Think yourself lucky, friend,” he said, “You still have most of your clothes, no?”

“But the cloak is mine,” Josephine said with a laugh, examining the fabric. “It is very fine, your majesty… Alistair,” she corrected herself. Of all of them, she had most struggled to drop the titles for the duration of the evening.

“It should be,” Alistair muttered, “It was a gift from Arl Teagan.”

“Well then, I’m sure we can find it in our hearts to return it to you,” Josephine said with a sly smile. Alistair perked up. “We can discuss it tomorrow along with the terms for Caer Bronach, if that suits?” Zevran and Leliana laughed as Josephine stood and swept from the tavern, leaving a flustered Alistair behind.

“Never bet with an Antivan my friend,” Zevran chuckled, “Truly, the years have left you rusty.”

“Did you ever work out just how much you lost to him in the end?” Leliana asked, eyes bright with mirth.

“No, and I certainly don’t want to think about it,” Alistair grumbled.

“It was enough to buy many nice things upon my return to Antiva. Thank you, Alistair, from the very bottom of my heart. But now I will retire, with what little I was able to scrounge around Miss Montilyet. She is a fierce woman – I think I will like it here.” With a wide, toothy grin, Zevran joined the steady trickle out of the tavern.

It wasn’t long before it was just Leliana and Alistair left, the King still holding an empty tankard, Leliana contemplating a mug of warm cider.

“It has been too long, Alistair,” she said at last.

“When did we last meet? Seven, eight years ago?” he sighed. “We all drifted apart after…” He swallowed, and drained the dregs of his drink before setting down the tankard with a hollow _clunk_.

“Neala would have trekked across the entirety of Thedas and dragged us by our ears to make sure we met up every few months,” Leliana said fondly. “I wouldn’t put it past her to travel to Seheron and drag Sten back here as well.”

“He’s the Arishok now,” Alistair said absently. “I had business with the Qun a year or so back. He’s risen through the ranks fairly rapidly since the blight.”

“You saw him? Is he well?”

Alistair shrugged. “He’s about as talkative as he ever was.”

“Oghren joined the Grey Wardens in Amaranthine, under the new Warden Commander.”

“I heard, yeah. Hard to believe he committed to something.”

“He remarried too. He has a child now.”

“Oghren has a child? Maker save us all.” Alistair stared down at the table. “I suppose there’s been no word from Morrigan?”

Leliana hesitated. “Alistair…” she said finally.

“No I expected as much. It’d be too much to expect her to give a reason for upping and abandoning us the night before we had to fight an Archdemon, really it would.”

“Alistair she’s here. She’s in Skyhold.”

“I… what?” Alistair rose to his feet very suddenly, his chair clattering to the ground. His eyes flashed with anger. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?!”

“Because I knew this is how you would react,” Leliana said, her voice much quieter and calmer than Alistair’s. “She has been here since the Masquerade at the Winter Palace.”

“I need to speak to her,” Alistair made as it to move past Leliana, but the Spymaster intercepted, a hand upon his arm.

“It is late, and you have been drinking. Let this confrontation wait until the morning, Alistair. Please.”

“I…” He glanced towards the door, his eyes still clouded with anger.

“I haven’t spoken to her about it yet,” Leliana was saying. “I… haven’t dared ask, I suppose.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “It is right, I think, that you should be the one to confront her. But you’ve waited ten years. Please, wait a few more hours.”

“I… I will,” he said finally, his shoulders slumping. “But I will speak with her first thing tomorrow.”

“I understand. Thank you, Alistair.”

He said nothing as he finally pushed past her and out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Fenris gives me life. 
> 
> And I now have a tumblr for my fic! Hit me up at http://inquisitor-curvo.tumblr.com/ I'll endeavour to post every time this or one of my other (all one of them...) fics updates, and you can leave me prompts or whatever, I'm trying to write more at the moment. 
> 
> Also, ideas for tiny scenarios are MORE than welcome. I have some golden ones already, but I am always up for tiny shenanigans. Always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair and Morrigan have a confrontation with unexpected yet strangely predictable results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried for some fluff at the beginning but idk, most of my fluff veers into serious talk territory so we'll see. Make of it what you will anyway!  
> No one is beta-ing this by the way, and I'm not really re-reading. I'm mostly just chucking it at you so enjoy and please ignore the typos!

Evelyn Trevelyan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, loved little more than a lazy morning. They were a luxury she had rarely indulged in throughout her life, first as the second child of Bann Travelyan with all the expectations that came with the title, then as an apprentice in the Ostwick circle. As an Enchanter, and subsequently Senior Enchanter, she’d often been drawn out of bed for research or else to lead classes of apprentices in their studies.

During her brief stint as an apostate on the run, she’d slept little. All the mages in their group were hyper vigilant, never knowing who might report them, or who they could trust. In the years that followed as she battled Corypheus and his forces, she’d almost forgotten what simply lying still could feel like.

Even now, with Corypheus vanquished, she didn’t often find a moment for herself in the morning. “This is late for you,” she murmured, hands reaching up to brush a stray curl from Cullen’s forehead.

“It’s late for you too,” he replied, not opening his eyes.

“The recruits won’t train themselves,” she said sleepily.

“Of course Inquisitor, I’ll get right to it.”

“Don’t you _dare_.” He made no move, but smirked at her with eyes still closed. “Ass,” she mumbled.

“It’s Wintersend today, I gave them the morning off.”

“Oh.”

“You’d forgotten, hadn’t you?”

“I’ve been busy. We all have.” She sighed and lowered her forehead to rest against his collarbone, enjoying the warmth. “I thought that maybe the Inquisition would wind down over the next few years,” she said after a moment, “But every day someone comes to us with some new problem, some new dispute for us to settle. We’re going to be here for some time yet, aren’t we?”

Finally Cullen opened her eyes and met her gaze. “Does that bother you?” he asked eventually.

“I… no,” she said finally, “Or not as much as I thought it would, anyway.” She sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, pulling her robe from the floor where she’d left it the previous night and throwing it around her shoulders as she moved to the balcony. She opened the door and stopped, looking out at the vista before her.

“This is home now,” she said after a moment, smiling wistfully. “My home – our home. The Inquisition’s home.” She turned back to see Cullen approaching her, having made himself decent enough to stand on the balcony. His arms drew her against him as they looked at Skyhold, at the people emerging to start the day – wishing each other the Maker’s blessing for Wintersend.

“And your role in all this?” he asked.

“I am the Inquisitor,” she said after a moment. “It took me so long to accept that she wasn’t a mask, something I put on when I left the fort. But now that I know she is me – that I _can_ be her…” she trailed off and sighed, “Then I owe it to Thedas… and to myself… to do the very best I can.”

She turned in his arms then, looking up at him. “I’m glad you’re with me through this,” she said softly, standing on her toes to brush a kiss against his lips. He smiled and tightened the hug, deepening the kiss for a moment before breaking away.

“There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.”

 _“Are you just going to ignore me then?”_ a voice shouted up from the grounds. Evelyn sighed and pulled away.

“Is that the King?” she said, listening to what was clearly a tirade.

“Ahh, Leliana warned me this might happen,” Cullen said, scratching at his neck.

“Why didn’t I get told? What’s happening?”

“You were back in Sahrnia, helping them rebuild,” he said, “It seems the King has found Morrigan.”

“I’ll go see what I can do then.”

* * *

Dorian rose early the following morning. This was more than a little unusual, but the dull ache in his temples assured him that it had not been for lack of drink the night before. He glanced to the other side of the bed, and the sleeping Qunari who lay there, and stood quietly. He set about pulling on his leathers and headed out of Bull’s room and on to the battlements. Knowing that Cullen would either be up already or in Evelyn’s room, he took the shortcut through his office and across the bridge to the Library.

He was just perusing the shelves when he heard the shouting begin. With a sigh, he wondered what Sera had done this time, and didn’t hurry as he followed the raised voices out of the library and into the garden.

To his surprise, it was the King of Ferelden doing the yelling, his face red with anger and the vitriol spewing forth from his lips aimed squarely at the witch Morrigan. Even as Dorian leant against the stone wall to watch, Morrigan proved she could give as good as she got.

“And do you really believe _my_ presence would have made a difference?” the witch shouted with a huff of scornful laughter. “Even I am not arrogant enough to believe that one fighter would have tipped those scales. The death of a Warden was required either way and she _chose_ to pay it.”

“That is not the point!” Alistair fumed. “A year, Morrigan. We’d travelled together for a year and you abandoned us right when we should have been a team.”

“I was never a willing participant in your crusade to save the world,” she retorted angrily.

“Maybe we should have left you in that swamp to get possessed by your mother then!”

“Ooh, poor choice, poor choice,” Dorian exclaimed, pushing himself off the wall, “The mother is a _highly_ sensitive topic these days, didn’t you hear?”

“She’s dead,” Alistair scoffed.

“Hmm, you might want to let her know that,” Dorian replied, shrugging, “Reports put her as up and walking, but maybe if you let her know she’ll just… fall over.”

“I… what?” Alistair turned to look at Morrigan, frowning in confusion.

“’Tis true,” the mage said acidly, crossing her arms and glaring at the King. “Not only does she live, but I am now bound to do her will. Does this please your grand majesty?” she curtseyed, her arms flourishing to either side as she kept her head up, eyes not leaving his.

“I… no, of course not.” He sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair – grey already beginning to show at the temples. “I just need to know… why? Why did you go?”

“I had a conversation with Neala, the night before the battle. My leaving was a result of this. If she didn’t explain it herself, then I am certainly not doing it for her.”

“She can hardly tell me herself, can she?!” Alistair cried, his voice breaking as he spoke. What started as a shout dwindled until it was little more than a sob. Dorian frowned and made to beat a hasty retreat. This was quickly becoming more personal than he had anticipated. If the King of Ferelden wanted to air his dirties, he could do it privately. Or at least, Dorian wouldn’t let himself be seen listening in.

He’d barely gone two steps when the world… _shifted_.

* * *

“Your highness?” Evelyn asked, stepping into the garden and looking around. “Morrigan? Are you there?”

There was no reply, but after a beat of silence renewed shouting came from somewhere further into the garden. She made to head towards the sound only for a voice to stop her in her tracks.

“You might have a job finding them,” Dorian said acidly. “The grass is rather tall in places.”

“Dorian… Oh. Andraste’s tits.”

“The Herald of Andraste blasphemes. It truly is a wonder.” Dorian was leaning against the wall, barely taller than five inches high.

“Oh Maker,” she knelt beside him. “What happened?”

“I have no idea. One moment I was beating a retreat from that,” he gestured towards the yelling further into the garden, “The next I am decidedly smaller than I was the moment before.”

“I need to get the King,” she muttered, standing. She hesitated then turned back to Dorian, lowering a hand. “Get on.”

“I… what?”

“I can hardly just leave you here can I?”

“Well I suppose not,” he sighed gamely, stepping onto Evelyn’s palm. He wobbled for a moment before deciding that perhaps sitting down would be a touch more stable. She hurried into the garden and soon located the yelling witch and the shouting monarch.

“King Alistair, Lady Morrigan,” she said, standing above them, “I really must ask that you stop shouting.”

They glared up at her for a moment, and then Alistair caught sight of Dorian.

“Ahh. So it’s not just us then?” he asked.

“It doesn’t appear to be, no,” Evelyn replied. “We’ve yet to even start figuring out how many people are affected.” She sighed, running at her eyes. “I’ll take you to the war room and call a council. We need to fix this, and preferably _before_ anyone learns that the Ferelden King is currently very easily stepped on.”

“Ah. Right. Yes. Good plan.”

* * *

“Your worship!” a voice said as she hurried through Josephine’s office. She turned to see a pale scout running towards her, hands held out before her.

“Oh Maker another one?” Evelyn groused, “Who is it?”

“Well, this is like old times, yes?” Leliana noted, peering over the scout’s fingers. Before anyone could formulate a reply, the door banged open again and a soldier entered, hands outstretched as though what he was holding might bite. Judging from the noises it was making, this was entirely possible.

“Fuck. Shit. Drat. Mages. Arrows in their face!”

“Sera?” Evelyn asked, peering into the soldier’s hands, “And Cole as well?”

“I’m small,” Cole said softly. “I’m not sure I like being small.”

A sinking feeling was beginning to form in Evelyn’s stomach.

“Bring them into the war room,” she said firmly, “And then go find every member of the inner circle and see if they’re in a similar state. Immidiately.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.” They looked as though they might solute for a moment, and then seemed to remember their burdens, hurrying through into the war room. Evelyn deposited her own burden onto the map and leant heavily against the large table. Morrigan and Alistair were already fighting again, Cole was staring down at his hands and Sera had resumed her litany of curses.

“So Leliana,” Evelyn asked through gritted teeth, “Any idea what’s going on?”

“Many, but I’m not quite sure where to begin,” the bard said honestly. When the door opened again, the scout hurried in with her burden – a tiny Josephine, still in her sleeping robe, iron bull wrapped in what appeared to be a torn piece of bedsheet, and Blackwall in his armour padding. The soldier arrived a moment later, bearing an irate and armoured seeker and a thoroughly irritated Varric.

“Who does that leave,” Evelyn said, counting off as she surveyed the table. “Cullen was with me so he’s fine, Josie and Leliana are here. Sera, Cole, Varric, Cass, Bull, Blackwall, Solas is goodness knows where, Vivienne is in Val Royeaux, and Dorian is there. Right.” She turned to the soldier and the scout – a man and a woman respectively.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said, “It might be wise to check on Zevran.”

“Oh of course. And tell Cullen to meet me here as well, please.”

Not five minutes later, Zevran Arainai strode into the war room, fully sized and very clearly amused. “Now this I was not expecting,” he said, laughing as he saw Morrigan and Alistair resolutely not looking at one another.”

“Inquisitor!” the solder hurried back in, pale faced. In his hand sat a very, very irate Commander Cullen.

“Cullen!” Evelyn exclaimed.

“Inquisitor I-” He caught sight of the war table, eyes bulging.

“Hello there Commander,” Dorian said with a wave, “Come to join the party I see.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they try to figure out the next step.

“Ok,” Evelyn said, taking a deep breath and looking down at the war table. “So we need to figure out how to fix this.”

“Preferably soon,” Cullen agreed from where he stood, somewhere close to Denerim.

“Well thankfully we have a large bunch of witnesses to this phenomena right here,” Dorian pointed out in mock surprise. “Perhaps we could try and figure out the common denominator in the three occurrences?” He was leaning back against the dagger plunged into the desk over Halamshiral, and the other members of the innermost circle of the Inquisition were dotted around the map as well.

Varric, perhaps naturally, was sitting cross legged upon Kirkwall, while Sera was huddled in the far corner. Bull was leaning against the books that rested on the edge of the table, his legs covering a tiny portion of Western Orlais, while Leliana and most of the others were standing upon the mountain range, near Skyhold itself.

Josephine was pacing, wringing her hands together and clearly intensely worried. “Josephine,” Evelyn said in her best calming voice, “It’s fine. People expect us to be sequestered in here all day anyway.”

“Yes,” Josephine said fretfully, “But it is _Wintersend_ Inquisitor. We will all be expected to make an appearance at the party this evening, and to announce the terms of our agreement with the Ferelden crown. We can hardly do that in our current… condition.”

“Agreed,” Evelyn sighed. “Let’s go back to what Dorian said, and look at when this happened before. What triggered it and why? What was everyone doing when they were… shrunk?”

“I was just entering my office,” Cullen answered, “To fetch the morning reports.”

“I was in the rookery,” Leliana added.

“I was asleep,” Josephine fretted.

“Me too,” Bull sighed.

“We noticed, Iron Bull,” Zevran said, his eyes flicking down the now tiny Qunari’s mostly naked form, what passed for modesty in Bull’s life protected only by the torn scrap of blanket wrapped around his waist.

“I was shooting,” Sera muttered, hands fiddling with the bow she must have been holding when the spell took effect, “Shooting at… stuff.”

Evelyn smiled slightly and decided she was probably better off _not_ knowing. She could ask Sera later anyway.

“I was…” Alistair began, then he paused and shot a glance at Morrigan. “We were arguing.”

“Quite impressively I might add,” Dorian said. “Lots of shouting. Probably woke the vast majority of the keep.”

“Hey,” Varric said suddenly. “Broody and Blondie… I mean, Fenris and Anders. They were fighting. I mean they were _always_ fighting,” he conceded after a moment, “But they were doing it right before…” he waved his hand to indicate the tiny assemblage upon the war table.

“Maybe…” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Morrigan and I had a disagreement shortly before we shrank, but I do not remember it falling far enough to become an argument. Certainly, there was no shouting.”

“No, the only shouting in camp was coming from a much different source,” Zevran chuckled, glancing at Alistair, who glared right back.

“So that’s a theory then,” Varric said.

“Ok, so now we just concentrate on what happened while you were… tiny… and then figure out what triggered you changing back,” Evelyn said leaning on the table and sighing. She glanced out of the window. “I’m going to have a quick walk around of the keep, to make sure there’s no one else with the same predicament we missed and otherwise keep up appearances. You try and figure out a way to fix this.”

“That’s Inquisitor mode,” Blackwall sighed, “She won’t crack a smile for the next three days.”

“Varric,” Josephine said suddenly, rounding on the dwarf, “You never said quite how long you were left in this state when you spoke about it earlier.”

“It would have spoiled the story,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“The story doesn’t matter at this point Varric,” Cassandra bit at him before turning to Josephine, “The book puts it at five days.”

“Five days?” the Ambassador looked positively faint. She turned to Leliana, who understood without needing a question.

“Relax Josie, it was just a few hours for us. We were our usual selves again by the next morning.

“That is… somewhat reassuring,” Josephine admitted.

“I must say,” Zevran said, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table, “This perspective is far more enjoyable than the one I enjoyed last time I encountered this magic.” Grinning lazily, he ruffled Leliana’s hair with an outstretched forefinger.

“Zev stop that,” she complained, swatting at him ineffectually and righting her coif. The assassin simply chuckled.

“It occurs to me,” Zevran said after a moment, “That this presents us with an opportunity, my dearest Leliana.”

“An opportunity?” Leliana asked, although she was smiling. “If only Schmooples was here.”

“Schmooples?” Cassandra asked, “You mean your nug?”

“The Nightingale has a pet nug?” Varric spluttered with a laugh. “Oh I have got to hear where this is going.”

***

**_Ten Years Ago_ **

“So no one has any idea what caused this?” Neala asked for the umpteenth time.

“No!” Came the shouted chorus from the tiny crowd before her.

“We have been over this many many times now,” Zevran sighed, settling cross legged on the ground. “It does not seem likely that we will get anywhere by repeating our ignorances once more, no?”

Neala sighed, but conceded his point with the drop of her shoulders. She had tried every spell she could think of and yet her friends were still smaller than they had any right to be.

“Think of the possibilities though,” Zevran mused.

“The possibilities?” Morrigan asked in a strangled voice. “What are the possibilities, pray tell, when you are stuck at five inches tall with the magical capability of the average nug!”

“Nugs!” Zevran laughed, “There’s a possibility.”

“What about nugs?” Alistair asked, peering down at the assassin.

“Nug racing,” Leliana laughed. “We could charge into battle atop our fearless mounts.”

“Umm… I don’t think nugs count as fearless mounts Lel,” Neala said after a brief pause, “But I could always get Carcharoth over…”

As if on cue, the Mabari trotted over. The beast was still full size, much to the disapproval of the newly tiny camp members.

“Keep that thing away!” Morrigan snarled, backing away from the dog.

“It is quite unnerving,” Shale said, looking up at Carcharoth, “But I rather think it would break it’s teeth should it attempt to eat me.”

“No, but I bet it’s smellier than pigeons when it…” Alistair smirked. Shale stood very still for a moment and then took five short steps backwards and away from the dog. “And pigeons are relatively larger as well,” he went on, “Best watch out.”

The golem didn’t have a wide variety of facial expressions, but at that moment Shale was as close to frowning as any of them had ever seen.

“ANYWAY,” Neala said, lightly pushing at Alistair’s shoulder. “We should try to figure out how to fix this.”

“So,” Alistair began, “Any ideas?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes sorry for the super delay. I've been off work sick and then had to temporarily relocate which means that (now I've returned to work) I have a super long commute. Only a few more weeks though, and then I'm changing to a regular hours job. Goodbye night shifts!

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for everything and nothing. You have been warned. 
> 
> (Seriously I'm mildly in love with what this fic will become you don't even know. It's going to be a beautiful car crash.)


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